


I Guess Evil Is Relative

by sleeplessink



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, a lot of this fic just takes place in his head, also: using a proper title that properly pertains to the story at hand? haven't heard of it, but also it’s true so like, i make them banter and then sort of cry, it starts pretty 3rd person and then i switch to more of a landon pov for some reason, landon takes his shirt off, that’s a clickbait tag, there’s a teensy bit of skin and a lot of kisses, tw: physical abuse (mention), tw: scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessink/pseuds/sleeplessink
Summary: Two introverts stay in on a sunny afternoon, a stolen shirt is found and a form of validation for past experiences takes place.ORLandon has told Hope about the scars before. She’s just never seen them. (Until now.)





	I Guess Evil Is Relative

It’s one of those afternoons where time feels like it’s held still. 

It’s a Sunday, and there is no homework to be done, no looming responsibility, no supernatural world-threatening problems on the horizon. Sunlight is pouring into Hope’s room and distant chattering can be heard through the window left ajar, while a comfortable silence has settled in the air, the kind that makes the inside of your chest feel calm.

Landon sits by the bay window, sun rays playing with the fabric of his sweatshirt as his fingers pluck a soft tune on the guitar. He only pauses from time to time to write things down in his journal, while Hope sits in front of a canvas, finishing up on a painting.

(It feels a little bit like they’re the only two people in the world, and both of them love the feeling much more than they’d admit to it out loud.) 

Landon is humming along to whatever chord progression he’s been playing on repeat (Hope can’t help the smile that appears on her face at the sound) when his eyes catch a grey fabric at the corner of his eyes. The music is brought to a sudden halt, and he goes: 

“Hey, is that my shirt?” 

“Hm?” 

Hope tears her eyes away from her painting to see what he’s talking about and a blush immediately creeps up to her cheeks. 

“No,” she stands up abruptly, the word having tumbled out of her mouth way too fast for it not to seem suspicious.

She doesn’t have the time to get to it before Landon does, and he turns around to brandish the piece of clothing like a flag, triumphant.

“You stole my shirt,” he grins, all too very pleased by the situation at hand.

“It’s comfortable,” she justifies with a shrug, cheeks still pink. Hope scrunches her nose at him when he won't wipe the smug expression off his face.

“I’d actually been looking for this,” he looks down to the unassuming piece of clothing, “It’s like the most comfortable out of all my shirts.”

“Sorry,” Hope’s eyes widen, feeling bad suddenly.

Landon’s head snaps up and he shakes it vehemently when he notices the guilt upon her features.

“No no it’s fine, you probably wear it better than I do anyway. If anything I’m mad I haven’t gotten to see you in it. Now _that_ doesn’t seem fair.”

She rolls her eyes but a smile doesn’t leave her lips. Landon’s heart skips a beat — like it always does when he realizes she’s smiling like that because of _him_ — and swiftly leans down to steal a kiss. He can’t really help it, when her eyes sparkle like _that_. (And, well, the thought of his girlfriend wearing his shirt? Definitely had something to do with it.)

Another thought crosses his mind and Landon’s face becomes serious, pensive suddenly. Hope tilts her head to the side, concern sneaking up to her chest, but before she can ask if everything is okay, he goes:

“Actually, do you mind if I wear it right now? You can have it back after dinner, it’s just I’ve been hot for like an hour now and I’d rather _not_ be all sweaty and gross if I can help it?” 

Relief fills her chest, (she’s not sure why she was so worried, something about them constantly battling monsters and death away, probably), and she lets out a laugh. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure why you decided wearing a _sweater_ in a 70 degree weather would be a good idea.”

“It’s been freezing for four consecutive days!” He protests. 

“Yes, and the weather can do this really cool thing where it _changes_ every day.”

He scowls at her and she cheekily grins at him, all teeth, before giving him a peck on his lips.

“But go ahead, I mean it _is_ technically your shirt.”

She takes a step back so he can change and Landon chuckles as he walks towards her bed.

“You know you totally leveled up in your girlfriend status by stealing my shirt, right?” he says, his back to her as he takes off his sweater. “Not that I have much experience, — and by much, I mean, none — but I’m pretty sure this is a _prime_ girlfriend move.” 

He’s expecting a witty comment or some kind of banter, but he thinks he hears her catch her breath, and before he can turn her voice has taken a fully-sobered up tone, softly letting out: 

“Landon…”

He’s frowning when he does turn around, his shirt still in his hands (and covering the lower part of his abdomen because, well, he’s _shy_ okay). She’s closer than he thought she was, and her eyes aren’t meeting his but are stuck on his chest instead, which he would be flattered at and all if they didn’t look so _sad_. It takes a millisecond of him still frowning, puzzled, trying to figure out what’s wrong. 

And then it clicks. 

His left hand instinctively goes up to the place underneath his right collarbone to hide the scar in the shape of the end of a cigarette. Which is dumb really, because clearly she’s already figured out what it is and seen the three he has on his back, and it’s not exactly _difficult_ to see the one on the side of his left shoulder. And maybe she can't see the two on his underarm, but it’s obviously too late to hide anything now. They're usually concealed when he’s wearing a simple t-shirt, which his foster father had clearly thought of at the time, and which also explains why Hope had never seen any of them before.

Landon clears his throat because he’s embarrassed, and uncomfortable, and frankly? Fairly self-conscious. And because of those three exact reasons, he tries to diffuse the tension by half-heartedly letting out: “Are you impressed or disappointed at seeing me shirtless? I can’t tell.” (Because self-deprecation is his thing, right? It’s _funny_.)

She manages to tear off her gaze to meet his and offers Landon a smile, but there’s something like hurt or sadness in her eyes. It makes his stomach tie into an unpleasant knot and his hands become fidgety. He’s about to put the shirt back on but Hope suddenly extends her hand towards him, looking at him like she’s asking for permission. His barely maintained bravado falls and he nods, chewing on his lower lip.

He holds his breath until he feels her fingers stroke the small scar on his chest. They’re not even that cold, but he shivers at the touch anyway. Meanwhile, his eyes refuse to look down at his own skin and remain stubbornly set on the girl in front of her. 

He's _trying_ not to think about the loud clattering of utensils, and the smell of nicotine breath, and the snicker in his foster father's voice. (And the awful mix of fear and adrenaline at the bottom of his guts, and the sound of his foster siblings’ whimper, and—) He's _trying_ to keep the bad memories at bay. 

So he looks at Hope instead. 

The shadow of a crease between her eyebrows, and the shape her lips make as they're pressed together, and the steady sound of her breathing. (And the familiar smell of paints and some sort of flower, and the way the light reflects on her blue irises, and—)

“Does it still hurt?” 

Landon lets out a soft laugh before he shakes his head, his curls bouncing ever slightly. 

“I was like, thirteen. They’ve had plenty of time to heal.”

(He’s talking about his skin, of course.)

She looks up at him and holds his stare at his words, like she wants to ask him something else. Instead her eyes fall back down as her fingers move to the underside of his right arm. He lets her hands graze his skin, feeling a little bit like a compliant patient or something. If he had a doctor who was incredibly hot and also his girlfriend. Except he feels remarkably exposed, like it's his entire self that's laid bare, and not just his chest. 

He swallows, and his Adam’s apple goes up and down.

Feeling vulnerable is really not in his list of favourite things, but somehow Hope Mikaelson makes him feel vulnerable _and_ safe at the same time, and it makes it all much more bearable somehow. When he's managed to slow down his breathing to match hers, Landon finally looks down. Her hand is stroking the healed burn, and something inside his heart clenches because no one’s taken such an extensive look at his scars before. Not even him. 

(And _man_. He really likes this girl, doesn't he.)

Slowly and deliberately, she makes her way around him, her fingertips painting roads upon his skin, creating constellations between the bad memories on his body. Granted, it’s a very messed-up version of a constellation; but then he remembers that stars are technically burning objects too, aren’t they, and do they not leave something nice and bright behind after they're gone? So maybe the aftermaths he has on his skin don’t have to be ugly, either. Hope sure isn’t looking at them like they are. He… thinks so, anyway. He can’t be sure, considering she’s behind him now, fingers on his back. But before he can question or overthink it, he feels her lips on his skin, right where he knows that first scar is. 

(And _oh_. She really likes him too, doesn’t she.) 

And then there’s another kiss. And another. Gentle, and fluttery, and purposeful. She makes her way to his left to kiss the scar on his shoulder, and then back in front of him again, to kiss the one she touched first, right on his chest. 

To be honest, part of his primal brain is telling him this is like, totally hot. But the thought is mostly in the back of his head. The greater part of his mind is busy thinking about how he’s pretty sure there’s something stuck in his throat, and he’s not sure he can utter a word without crying or something, for some reason. 

And then she kisses him. On his lips, this time. And he kisses her back, deepening it with fervour. Because his heart is beating really fast and _God_ he really loves this girl and he’s going to try to convey it in this kiss, damn it. 

They’re out of breath when they part, and there’s something so soft in the way she looks at him when they do. She gently pulls his curls back, and lets her fingers play with his hair. 

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He shrugs, like he always does. 

“It’s been years—“ he begins, but she shakes her head to cut him off.

“That doesn’t make it any less wrong.” 

There’s a thoughtful frown on her features, like it’s saying this is important. Like she’s saying she really needs him to understand this.

“It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _right_. And you didn’t— you don't deserve all the bad things that happened to you. You know that, right?" 

The seven different witty remarks he had at the ready suddenly vanish at the look she gives him, and all he can manage to do is swallow. He wants to nod, in fact he's pretty sure he's about to, but somehow his shoulders come up instead. 

Something like hurt flashes across her eyes and Landon regrets the instinctive movement immediately. 

It’s pathetic, right? That he couldn’t just nod and mean it? 

“Oh Landon," her voice breaks at his name, and her eyes are glistening. 

And he wants to tell her that it’s fine, he’s fine, she doesn’t have to pity him or whatever. He’s survived and he’s here now and maybe part of him thinks all the terrible things that happened in his life are perhaps, possibly, probably his fault, at least in some part, in the grand scheme of things. But that’s fine, really. Because it's not like the thought is anything new.

"It's okay," he begins to try to word it, and he hates how fragile his voice sounds. He can't even manage to continue as Hope's hand makes its way to cup his cheek and her eyes stare firmly into his.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He doesn’t mean to, but there’s a tear that escapes to his cheek. 

“Okay? Landon. None of it was your fault. The people who hurt you? They were wrong. You didn’t deserve any of it.” 

There’s nothing but pure earnestness in her blue eyes, and it makes something stir inside his chest. Like a door that opens gently, like the breeze of possibility that whispers that maybe, just maybe, it's okay to believe it. 

He lets out a mix of a shaky breath and a laugh, and he nods. 

“Okay,” he manages to croak out, voice low. And it feels unstable, so he says it again. 

“Okay.” 

(Maybe he will start from there.) 

The response brings a smile up to Hope's lips, and he kisses it, his chest feeling way less tight than it did a minute ago. But it feels full, too, and a little like his heart might burst just by holding onto her. 

( _God_. He really loves this girl, doesn't he?) 

 

She’s the one who pulls away. 

“And I’m not disappointed, by the way.” 

He’s confused, but then he feels her hand go down to his shirtless chest, and—

 _Oh._

She’s hiding a smile by biting her lip down, and he swallows for an entire different reason than earlier. 

“And as impressed as I am,” she’s grinning now, while his heart is running, “you should probably put a shirt on before we go to dinner.”

His brain stops on his tracks, and he almost gets whiplash to look at the time. The clock on Hope’s nightstand tells them they’re already a handful of minutes late for dinner, and Landon audibly groans. 

It makes a laugh tumble out of her lips as she goes to attend to her paint and her brushes, as Landon begrudgingly, but finally, puts his shirt on. 

“We can always continue this conversation after dinner,” she adds out of _nowhere_ , shrugging nonchalantly, and Landon, who was going to get his journal, almost trips on her carpet. But he tries to act blasé, even if his mouth is dry suddenly. 

“Yeah?” he raises his eyebrows in the most composed expression he can manage. 

“Oh yeah.” 

 

Before they leave, Hope grabs his hand to intertwine their fingers, and after a small pause, presses a kiss against the scar hidden under his shirt on his left shoulder. 

Something inside Landon's throat feels stuck again, but his chest feels so terribly _light_ , and all he can think is:

 _Man._ He’s really in love with this girl, isn’t he. 

(He really has no idea how he got so lucky)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I wrote most of this while I should have been studying for finals. (Do you have any idea how much inspiration strikes when your brain wants to do literally ANYTHING but study ? It’s a terrible and twisted kind of curse)
> 
> Anyway, when I was re-watching Legacies for the xth time a while ago and the cigarettes were mentioned, my heart squeezed and my brain went: "that must have left SCARS:(". I wrote that down and a few weeks down the line this came out. 
> 
> I'm not sure what to think about it, but it's here! Let me know what you think, criticism and all! :)


End file.
